Mouth
by AndromedaStarr
Summary: A post Stress Position fic. Logan didn't ride back with his girlfriend, whose name I couldn't remember so I called her Jenny. Oneshot. Slash. Please review.


Outside the federal prison, in blinding rain and blistering cold, Logan closes the car door and watches the police car with his girlfriend in the backseat disappear into the darkness. Not far away, Goren has just bid his partner Eames farewell too. Logan looks at the other detective, trying not for the first time nor the last to decipher the man. He knows it's a lost cause.

Slowly he makes his way through the scattered puddles on the ground to where Goren stands, his hands in his pockets. He is silent, stoic, yet full of some great compassion Logan is not sure he could emulate even if he tried.

"I never thought I'd say this," he says casually, "but your mouth saved my life."

Back in the prison, it had been the two of them and Jenny, locked in a corridor with four guards. Four guards armed with batons whose consciences had long since become acclimated to cruelty and torture. Logan had seen his life flash before his eyes.

And then Goren had started talking, Bobby Goren with his soft, hypnotic voice and those words that could eat away at even the strongest of your defenses. And miraculously, one by one, the guards had walked away. The gates had been unlocked and they had been freed. Saved by Bobby Goren's mouth.

Now that mouth smiles at him, and deceptively sleepy-looking brown eyes crinkle at the corners. But Goren, master of interpersonal relations that he is, says nothing. Waiting like a chess player, Logan thinks, for him to make the next move and checkmate himself well and truly.

"Thank you," Logan says awkwardly, aware that there are a million things in his head that he would rather say. Things like wondering aloud what Goren looks like when he's sleeping, if those lines on his forehead ever smoothen out, if he tastes like how he smells - coffee and cologne and the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke.

Goren, for his part, can probably read minds, because at that moment he gives a half-smile that completely destroys Logan's self-possession. "Don't thank me," he says mildly. "Thank my mouth."

And with that sentence, all bets are off. The blood drains from Logan's brain and suddenly he can't think at all. His eyes are riveted to Goren's lips. Never in his life has he seen anything more seductive than that little smile.

"Oh," Logan breathes, "I will." He casts a swift glance around to make sure they're alone and takes a step forward that brings him to within inches of the other man.

Goren doesn't move. There is no flicker of alarm on his face, only a faint sort of amusement in his eyes. He returns Logan's gaze calmly, with no visible reaction to the invasion of his personal space.

Logan's knees are weak. He lifts one hand to Goren's cheek and is pleasantly surprised; the man's skin is as smooth as silk where it is not rough as sixty-grit sandpaper. His hand caresses cheek and jaw and then slides to the back of Goren's head, fingers curling into soft dark hair.

Logan is so close he can taste Goren's breath. Coffee and cigarettes, just as he thought. A faint musky scent rises to his nostrils, laced with cologne, and what is left of Logan's self-control evaporates.

He leans forward, inhibitions forgotten, and ever so lightly his lips brush Goren's. For a moment there is no response, but then before Logan rightly knows what is happening he is wrapped in what must be the warmest embrace that he has ever felt and Goren is sucking his soul out through his mouth.

The detective is a passionate kisser and very good with his tongue. Logan feels himself trying to melt into a whimpering puddle of nerves and desire, but the arms around him are strong and Goren does not let him fall. The kiss continues until Logan thinks he is going to spontaneously combust, and then Goren pulls back.

Spots dance wildly in front of Logan's eyes, and he blinks frantically to clear his vision. Goren, inconceivably, looks unperturbed. The laughter is back in his eyes.

"You're welcome," he says quietly, and turning away, slides into the driver's seat of the car. Logan watches in stunned disbelief as Goren starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, leaving him standing there in the rain. He stares after the car for a long while, and shakes his head. The man is an enigma. Bobby Goren is not meant to be understood.

Which, Logan thinks, suits him just about fine.


End file.
